


Day

by Oh_Hey_Its



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Genre: Drabbles, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Hey_Its/pseuds/Oh_Hey_Its
Summary: 24 hours, 1140 minutes, 86400 seconds.





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Just some drabbles I wrote when I should've been working on a new chapter of 3086 Lost (I am going to try and get the new chapter finished and posted tomorrow at some point!). Sooo hope you guys enjoy. Feedback either here or on tumblr (ohheyits) is always appreciated :)

She wakes to sunlight warming her naked skin, to smooth sheets tangling coolly around her legs, to a tattooed arm draped loosely across her back, to soft breaths tickling her hair, to her face tucked into a warm neck. She sighs, burrowing closer and pressing her lips to the smooth skin beneath them. The body below her stirs at this touch, a rumble of wakefulness echoing in Tegan’s chest. Sara lifts her head, watching her other half’s eyes flutter as one hand flies up to rub her eyes.

“Morning baby.” She whispers.

Tegan smiles, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Morning Sare.”

As she says this Tegan reaches around Sara with both arms and pulls her tightly to her chest, twisting them both so that they are facing one another on their sides, breathing each other’s air softly in contentment. They lay like that for what feels like ages; half asleep and holding one another as the sun continues to creep up their bed, as the city below and around them begins to awaken from its temporary slumber.

After a short while hunger rears its grumbly head in the pits of their stomachs, ruining the idyllic echo of cars and pedestrians below them with its whiney complaints. Separating pale skin from tan they rise; Tegan carelessly pulling on a discarded pair of boxers and an old cut-off band shirt, Sara slipping into a pair of small pajama shorts and a grey shirt with a graphic too faded to make out printed across the front.

The kitchen is flooded in sunlight, Tegan laughing as she stoops down to pick up several articles of clothing they’d dropped in their hurry to the bedroom the night before, tapping Sara’s bum playfully as she walks past. Sara, meanwhile, busies herself with pulling out all of the things she needs to prepare their breakfast, switching on a burner atop their stove to heat it for the scramble eggs she’ll soon be cooking there.

Soon the sizzle and smell of food fills their apartment, Tegan following the scent back to her partner after hanging their leather jackets back up in their closet and throwing the odd shirt or pair of pants into the washroom. Wrapping her arms around Sara’s waist she hums in contentment, swaying the pair of them together to the steady beating of their hearts. Sara smiles widely, leaning her head back to press a soft kiss onto Tegan’s jaw. Eyes fluttering closed, Tegan relishes the feeling of the woman’s lips grazing her skin. If she could, she’d never let go.

Then they’re on the balcony, cool morning lifting slowly into early afternoon as they dig into their breakfasts and, later, cup their second and third mugs of coffee in their hands, feet propped against the wrought iron railing, toes curling into the other’s playfully. Tegan lies back in her seat with a sigh, eyes closing as she drifts quietly through her thoughts. Sara glances over at her warmly before turning back to the book she’d brought out with her, wind ruffling the pages gently every now and again.

 

Mornings off tour are the best kind. The type where you can wake up with your partner after a passionate night of lovemaking without the fear of anybody walking onto your bus and seeing something they wouldn’t understand, the type where you are able to express your love for her without the need for thinly veiled innuendo plastered together like a sick joke, the type where you can cuddle her close and relish the feeling of her skin brushing against yours without the taboo of touch plaguing you endlessly.

There is no equal.

 


	2. Afternoon

There is a slight breeze in the air, just enough to rid the city of the humidity that had been hanging about languidly for the past couple of weeks. Even though it is probably one of the last days it'd be warm enough for shorts, especially now that fall was fast approaching, Sara refused. Tegan had tried to get her to wear that pair of shorts that made, according to her, “Your ass look fine!” but Sara merely shook her head and smiled bashfully, not wearing the leather jacket she’d wanted to as a compromise.

And so they set out, the odd couple. Tegan in her grey-toned floral printed t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts that ended right above her knobby knees, Sara in her skin tight black jeans and long black shirt. They didn’t hold hands, the chance of being recognized out on the street far too much of a possibility to even consider it. This was okay though; it was enough to feel Tegan’s hand brush causally against Sara’s, or to have Sara’s hand mistakenly brush against Tegan’s waist for a moment longer than necessary. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

 

They reach the park after a short commute, Tegan grinning like a fool and pulling Sara along to one of the many empty fields open to the public amidst the concrete paths and nearby lake. They lay on their backs, perpendicular to one another, so close and yet so painfully far.

A beetle lands on Tegan’s nose and she grows cross-eyed trying to see it before panicking and hopping around Sara’s laughing form.

“Is it gone? Where’d it go? Sare come on this isn’t funny! What if it had a stinger or something? What if it was poisonous and it got me and I just can’t feel it? Oh god what if they have to amputate my nose!”

It takes Sara about five minutes to calm the woman down, trying to hold back her giggles as Tegan glares at her crossly, face red with embarrassment. It only requires a long hug and a whisper of suggestion in her ear, however, for Tegan to finally straighten up and return to her previously exuberant mood.

They get up and walk along the lake nearby, Tegan daring to put her arm over her lover as they stand on the slightly mucky shore together. Sara stiffens nervously at first before relaxing into her touch after taking a quick glance around. Nobody is staring, nobody cares. She wishes it was this easy all of the time.

A group of excited young women approach them as the sun begins to dip down behind the towering buildings surrounding. Instinctively, they separate themselves fully from one another, putting on the masks they don when dealing with anyone who doesn’t _know._ Happily they take selfies and sign whatever random item the girls manage to procure before wishing them well and continuing on their way. Once the masks are on though, they prove much harder to remove, instincts ingrained after years of avoidance hard to shake off after kicking in so strongly.

It is only after dinner, sitting across from one another at the dining room table, that Sara’s hand hesitantly crawls along to find its counterpart, stiffness in each other’s spines decompressing at the touch.

 

 

Afternoons off tour are a gift. While they do occasionally have moments like these to themselves on their days off or in the presence of the few who truly understand their bond, even then the masks wear heavily on their faces until their limbs feel leaden and they are too worn down to give the affection the other deserves. Yes, these times are infinitely better. Just the two of them, no tour bus with its endless corridor of tiny bunks, no others appearing randomly and without warning, no crushing weight of uncertainty over who or what could possibly be around the next corner. These moments are sacred.


	3. Evening

The evening is Sara’s favorite time of day. The sun has set, the air is crisp, they are curled up together under a giant mound of blankets on their cozy bed. Sara has her book from the morning hours open once more, glasses perched precariously on the edge of her nose as she becomes immersed within the story being weaved between the whiteness of the pages and the uniform rows of dark ink crossing them. Tegan, ever the cuddler, is laying on her stomach with her head cushioned beneath Sara’s breasts, eyes opening and closing sleepily, one famous eyelid drooping.

The stereo on their dresser is playing a playlist of soothing acoustic instrumentals; Sara’s focus music. A page is turned, Tegan’s eyes shut completely and stay closed as her breathing evens out, the music changes to a muted piano soli. Sara glances from her page, running her fingers gently though the other woman’s shaggy locks, soft smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

They didn’t make love tonight, neither woman experiencing the urging need to touch the other in that way they used to when they were young. Now, in their mid-thirties, they are content at times to merely fall into one another and nothing more, happy to merely be close. They no longer need to give each other orgasms every night to feel pleasure or completion in their relationship.

Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of a snoring Tegan’s head, Sara dog-ears her page and places her book on her nightstand, muting the stereo with its remote and switching off her light. She sighs deeply as she settles in to the mattress. Tegan groans and mutters something as she is jostled about, quickly quieting once more as Sara murmurs reassuringly to her, her fingers grasping onto Sara’s t-shirt tightly.

 

 

Yes, it is the evenings off tour that are cherished the most. Here there is no thousands of fans crowded impatiently into a tiny venue waiting eagerly for them to jog onto the stage, there is no label and tour manager hustling them this way and that for press, there is no prying eyes searching away for any sort of strange unconventional relationship the twins might share. Their masks are always at their most unrelenting in the hours of the evening, the time they are most in the public eye. Here, safe in the confines of their home and the darkness, they are hidden from view.

Sara closes her eyes as unconsciousness begins to pull at her brain, reassured by the warm weight of Tegan resting on her chest and the tickle of Tegan’s hair in her nose. This is the reason she is still here… the reason they are still here, still fighting to make this all work.

Without it, she knows, they’d simply fade into darkness. Off and away.


End file.
